History
by March
Summary: There is an old cliché that history repeats itself. In this case, cliché is truth.
1. Chapter 1

--Disclaimer-- They aren't my characters. They belong to Carl Ellsworth. And you can tell because if they belonged to me, Jackson's pretty voice wouldn't have been wasted in such a shocking manner in the film.

--Summary-- There is an old cliché that history repeats itself. As it often happens, cliché is truth.

--Rating-- M, because the main characters in this story all appear to have potty mouths. I tried to scold them, but they ignored me.

History

She was running late.

She hated that. She liked to be on time, especially when she traveled. And she traveled a lot. She was pulling her suitcase behind her when something made her stop for a second. A man, standing off the the side. Wearing a crisp suit. His intense eyes were what originally attracted her attention. A flash of _déja vu _hit, making her whole body feel slightly off kilter.

It was almost as if she'd seen him before, but that didn't make any sense. He was probably about fifteen years older than she. His hair was going gray.

She shrugged and sat down in the terminal, preparing herself for boredom. He sat there, too. Once she looked up from her book and he nodded at her, as if acknowledging her presence. She managed a wane smile and went back to her book, trying hard to forget the fact that her cheeks were hot and probably red.

"Passengers from seats 18-A to 19-A can now board," the polite airline employee said, her voice soothing and calm.

And then she stood, having to walk past him in order to give the employee her ticket and get on the plane.

She liked window seats. She liked watching as the plane became higher and higher, eventually escaping even the clouds. Since the age of twelve, she'd flown with her parents, ever since her father started working for the vice president. She was pretty sure she'd seen every state in the union. But today she was flying back to California after her winter break. Her father was now working for the man who was running for president, so she was constantly flying back and forth across the country. It was a relief to go back to school and not have to worry about campaigning.

Someone sat next to her, fiddled with the seat, and sighed. That was when she looked over. It was the man in the suit she'd seen earlier. And then everything hit at once. She remembered the first time she'd flown alone. The bathroom. Woman stumbling in, shaking and looking as if she was about to cry. Looking behind her and seeing the expression on his face that looked so hard and cruel.

Rebecca felt as if she needed an air mask, although judging by the expression on everyone else's face, she knew she was the only one who felt that way. The temperature was suddenly cold. She pressed the button in front of her, feeling trapped. At least someone could help her now...

"I wanted to wait to tell you this," the man in the suit said, "but you press that button and your mother dies."

The plane took off without a hitch, although Rebecca was grasping on to her seat for dear life.

"What do you need?" he asked, his voice surprisingly low and thick, despite his small stature. "I know how you like to drink water when you fly, so I can order you some." He licked his lips in one slow motion.

"What do you want from me?" Rebecca asked, struggling to keep her voice down.

"Your father is good friends with the man who's running for president. It just happens I don't like this guy. Your father could kill him for us, thereby forcing him to go to jail and lose his presidency. I want to use you. For leverage." He grinned. His voice was smooth, like molasses. "So, I want you to sit back and enjoy the flight, because we've got a long way to go until we get to California."

Jackson would not have imagined that they'd have put him back on a plane after what had happened ten years ago. It wasn't his first choice, but, as some new kid said to him once, "You're scary, man." So everyone had elected _him_ to be the one to follow the kid from Florida to California.

For a slightly spoiled politician's daughter, the girl flew coach a lot. Thank God. It was much easier to harass someone in coach, since everyone payed attention to their own mundane lives and no one else's. The people on this flight looked so self-consumed he wondered if he could stand up and yell, "I'm going to kill the president right now" and get away with it.

Even the flight attendants weren't doing their jobs very well. The _last_ time he'd done something like this, they'd come over and at least pretended to care when she'd started to cry. However, Rebecca wasn't crying and so went entirely unnoticed.

"Who are you?" she finally asked, her voice just barely a whisper.

"Well, I've given the name Jackson Rippner before, so I'll do that now. Can't have you finding anything else about me, can I?"

"Why are you doing this?"

The girl's questions were getting annoying. He clenched his arm rest, gritting his teeth. They were sore from doing that often. "Don't ask questions and you'll find this a lot easier."

"You at least should tell me that much." The girl's chin tilted upwards slightly and she gave him a defiant glance. "I want to know."

Rebecca was starting to whine a little, despite her best efforts to appear strong. He recognized this. He'd done this too often to not recognize it. Good. She was starting to feel the terror inside of her.

He smiled to himself and leaned back. "We've got a long ride ahead of us. Maybe if you're a good girl and don't make too much of a fuss I'll explain everything."

Rebecca's first thought was that he enjoyed saying the name 'Jackson Rippner'. He had paused as he said the word 'Rippner', exaggerating the two syllables and savoring the moment.

The rest of his words were cold and detached, almost as if she was boring him. However, she'd read enough criminal justice textbooks to know that they always enjoyed knowing that their victims were terrified. So she tried hard to pretend that she wasn't.

The flight attendant stopped by to ask if they wanted anything. She tried to catch her eye but the woman was focused only on Jackson. She wanted to scream, throw things, do whatever it took to get her to pay attention, but Rebecca was ignored.

"Just some water for my friend, Becca, here," Jackson said, slightly nodding in her direction.

Rebecca's insides clenched in disgust. There were only two people in the world who called her that-- her father and her newest boyfriend, the one she'd been discussing marriage with for the past two months. Where did this man get off--

"Oh, you're Mr. Killmore's daughter," the flight attendant said, eyes widening in recognition. People often did that. Her father, being so close to the vice-president, made her somewhat of a celebrity.

"Yeah," she said, dryly. She tried to mouth that this man next to her was a killer, but the flight attendant's attention was back to Jackson.

"And how do you know this woman?" she asked. It was obvious she was confused as to why a man pushing forty was good friends with a woman who had just turned twenty.

_None of your fucking business_, Rebecca thought angrily.

"Oh, I'm actually good friends of her father's," he said, smiling, as if he wasn't a total monster. "Asked me to watch out for her on our trip to California. Isn't that right, Becca?"

_No!_ "Yes," she lied.

"How nice," the flight attendant said, flashing a toothy grin and heading off to ask someone else if they needed something.

"I thought you never lied," Rebecca said, quietly.

"What?" the innocent tone of voice was gone and it was back to being quiet and menacing.

Everything was coming back to her. Standing outside the bathroom door and listening to everything he said to the woman with the brown curls, until the flight attendant ushered her away. "In the bathroom on that flight we were all on. You told the woman you never lie."

Suddenly, crushing pain on her wrist. His hand wrapped around it, squeezing tightly until she longed to cry out. Doing so, she knew, would only make it worse. So she closed her eyes and bit her lip.

"How much did you hear?"

"Mostly everything," she said, voice strangled. She just wanted this to be over. "You told her off for lying and then I heard some thuds and the flight attendant came over and ushered me away."

"What are you saying?" he said, voice thick.

"You just lied, didn't you?"

That was rewarded with more crushing pain on her wrist. It throbbed angrily, until he let go, suddenly. It was with such force that her elbow banged against the side of the arm rest.

"I need to go the bathroom," she said, not looking at him.

Besides the fact they'd shared a flight before, he reminded her of Lisa. Poor, stupid Lisa. She was the one woman he would have liked to have had dinner with. Or fucked, maybe, even.

He laughed, unable to help himself. Of course she'd have to pee. He'd watched as she drank the water the flight attendant had so helpfully given them. The in-flight movie was some romantic story that was probably going to end tragically. She'd been watching half-heartedly, as he'd recommended. "I don't think so."

Rebecca's eyes filled with tears for the first time. "I really have to go."

"I've learned my lesson. How about you sit back and cross your legs."

"Fuck you," she whispered angrily, which rewarded her a small, subtle punch in the arm. No one had seen it, for he was the master of subtlety.

"Ow," she whispered, tears spilling over until they cascaded down her cheeks.

"We only have an hour and a half," he said. "You can hold it until then."

She crossed her legs and looked as if she was straining against something. She fidgeted for a few minutes. "I have to go, _Jack_," she said, the last word full of derision.

"Maybe if you're a good girl I'll let you go later," he said, closing his eyes and learning his head back against the headrest. At this point, he doubted she could be good enough to be granted that privilege. She could be so annoying at times.

"What happened to the woman?" she asked quietly, a few minutes later. He could tell by her expression that Rebecca was truly miserable. He almost took pity on her.

"What woman?"

"You know the one."

"There are so many of them, Becca--"

"Don't give me that crap. You know who I'm talking about."

"If you mean the girl you saw for two seconds on the plane, I killed her."

Rebecca's stomach appeared to be bungee-jumping, which wasn't helping the bladder situation at all. "You... _what?" _

"I kill everyone I use for bait. You can't have them running for cops, can you? The ironic thing is, she came close."

"I need to go to the bathroom," she said, again.

Much to her surprise, he stood up and let her go. "I'll be right behind you," he whispered into her ear. "So don't try anything funny."

He slipped into line as she slipped into the tiny lavatory. Knees shaking, she managed to lower herself on to the toilet. He was going to kill her. Well, maybe he was lying about the woman on the plane. The woman who had offered to let her go first... the woman who had looked so terrified. That was going to be her. That _was_ her.

_Was_ he lying?

Maybe she was still alive.

Her hands shook violently as she soaped them. She'd never get out of this.

_Please let it be a lie._

He should have known better. The bitch was taking _years_ in the bathroom. He'd heard the water running a few minutes ago. She should have been out by now.

God _damn_ it. She was probably writing a message on the mirror.

When would he learn his lesson?

He waited for her to open the door so he could talk to her in private. He didn't _like_ doing this kind of thing. Did these women think he enjoyed pushing them against the wall and yelling at them? Of course not. That kind of thing took time and energy, when it should have been spent doing other, more useful things.

And now Rebecca was trying to get out of the situation she'd found herself in. Poor thing. He hadn't _wanted _to kill this one, but she was smart. Almost as smart as Lisa had been. These kinds of people asked way too many questions.

Ultimately, killing wasn't his job. It's was someone else's job, but his decision. And right now she was getting on his last nerve.

The door finally flung open. He barely glanced at her blotched cheeks as he checked the mirror.

Nothing there.

_What?_

"Can I go back to my seat now?" she asked, irritated.

He wanted to nod, but something kept him standing there. What was it? He wasn't sure what was wrong, exactly, but he pushed her back into the room, adrenaline taking over.

And that was when he saw it.

The bitch had taken a pen and written it on the side wall. He slammed the door to the lavatory shut and held out his hand. "Pen."

She looked at him defiantly. Apparently going to the bathroom had made her plucky again. "Why?"

He laughed a little and pointed to his throat. He knew the scar was still there."I learn from my mistakes, Becca. Don't think I'm going to let you get away with this."

Rebecca made no effort to move and so he shoved her against the wall. For a minute, they were both overcome with adrenaline and breathing heavily. That's all there was-- deep breaths and silence.

"Now, just hand it over and we'll go back to our seats and everything will be fine."

She, of course, ignored him. "You're such a liar. Everything will _not_ be fine and you know it."

Boy, had she said the wrong thing. If she was getting on his last nerve mere minutes ago, she was now jumping up and down on it. He twisted her arm behind her back until she whimpered.

"Don't cry out," he said nastily. "You wouldn't want to gamble with your mother's life, would you?"

"Fine, damn it!" she said, eyes filling with tears yet again. She pulled out the pen from her pocket and gave it to him. He watched, satisfied, as her eyes were filled with surrender.

"Good girl," he said, hoping to get on her nerve, too. Apparently he'd succeeded because she was now looking at him with absolute disgust. "Now, you're going to help me get this off the wall and then we're going to wipe those tears off your face and then we're going to go back to our seats. When the plane lands, we're going to order coffee at Starbucks. When I get the call, we're going to go to your father's office and take it from there. Got it?"

Rebecca refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was about to give up, so she didn't nod. He gently squeezed her shoulder in response and then patted it.

She shuddered. It was something her boyfriend did to reassure her. There was something about the way he had been acting, some of the things he had said--

He grabbed her a wet paper towel and asked her to rub the markings off the wall. They both worked at it; her hands shaking, his much more steady.

"I don't know why you're putting up such a fuss," he sneered. "I know you daydream of more excitement in your life. I heard you tell a friend. Isn't this excitement?"

She wanted to punch him. "How do you know everything?"

"I've been following you for eight weeks," he said nonchalantly.

She began to scrub harder, pretending the wall was his face. "Why?"

"I like to know as much as possible about the people I'm working with." When the pen markings were scrubbed off the wall to his satisfaction, he added, "Now, Beccca, I want you to put on a happy face. People are going to be wondering why friends of your father's are in the bathroom with you, obviously. So you're going to tell them you have... bladder difficulties and I was helping you out."

He grinned and threw the paper towels away. Thank God she had looked so miserable when she'd had to go to the bathroom earlier. That would only add plausibility to his story. Rebecca was only making it too easy.

She was glaring daggers at him, but he didn't care.

Sure enough, as he escorted her back to her seat, a flight attendant looked at them questioningly. He told her the story, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the flight attendant said, looking at Rebecca with sympathy.

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Isn't that right, Becca?"

"Yeah," she said, blushing furiously.

Good girl.

The rest of the flight went by in a blur. The seat belt sign flashed with a _ding_ and Jackson watched her the whole time. No pens from this woman.

He grabbed her carry-on for her and waited patiently as her luggage went by in the airport. She grabbed it, looking numb. Jackson shrugged and escorted her to the airport's Starbucks.

Rebecca couldn't believe her luck. She wondered how this man hadn't thought of it before, since he seemed to think he'd thought of everything. It seemed so simple... so...

She took the top of her drink off, pretending to be angry that the employees had forgotten her whipped cream. And that was when it happened.

She dumped it out over his head, and his brief shock was the window of time in which she needed to run. She ran like she'd never run before, adrenaline carrying her past a comfortable distance. She was panting and out of breath, but that didn't matter.

At one point, Rebecca looked over her shoulder and there he was, sprinting with his arms pumping frantically. She gave a little gasp and flung open the door of the airport terminal.

He was right behind her, and she realized she'd left her cell phone in her carry-on. Back at Starbucks. He had it, damn it.

A few seconds later, the man flung the door open and caught up to her. "Don't move," he said, holding tightly to her arm. "We're hailing a taxi. Put a goddamn smile on your face."

Rebecca tensed and waited there. She wanted to break down, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

The taxi ride seemed to go in slow motion. Jackson watched her every move until they stopped by an abandoned grocery store. He hastily put the money in the driver's hands and the two of them walked out together.

"Where are we?" she asked, wondering where her father was.

"I couldn't have the driver stop where we really need to go, could I?" he snapped. "We're walking."

She was pleased to see that the crisp suit was now wrinkled and stained with coffee. Rebecca looked around. Everything was so abandoned. One car had driven down the narrow road since they'd gotten out of the taxi and everything looked run down, almost like a ghost town. "Do most mafia organizations meet in places like these?" she asked.

He looked almost distracted. "First, I don't work for the mafia. Second, even if I did, do you think I'd tell you how it works?"

She shook her head and looked away from him. He seemed almost human when he didn't talk.

And then, they heard gunfire.

"Stay behind me," he said, grabbing her wrist painfully. "Something just happened."

"I want to see my daughter _now_!" Rebecca heard, as several men ran from behind the bushes right in front of them. The first man was her father.

"Dad!" she shouted.

"Rebecca!" he shouted back.

"Perhaps you should tell _Daddy_ what's at stake, here," Jackson said, making everyone halt. She was slightly impressed by how much authority he could convey just by talking. "Maybe you should tell him who's standing right outside of your mother's house, poised and ready at my command. Or maybe that doesn't matter to him. They divorced a long time ago, didn't they, Becca? They really must not have liked each other. Maybe having you caused the rift in their relationship."

"Fuck you," Rebecca's father said in response.

"Now, now," he said patronizingly, "You wouldn't want to do anything too hasty."

Rebecca would always have a hard time remembering what came next. Gunfire went off and her father's body fell to the ground. She was pretty sure she had screamed. Then, she had shrugged out of Jackson's grasp and punched him as hard as she could in the stomach. Kicked him in the groin as she'd been taught to do in self-defense classes.

She heard the sirens then, the sound rising and falling in the distance.

"Shit," one of the men said, lowering his gun slightly. "I dunno, man, if they see us here after we just shot a dude..."

"Run for it," Jackson wheezed, doubled over. "Fucking run for it."

They did as they were told. "This isn't the end of it," Jackson had said, pointing at her with a shaking finger. "It isn't the end."

Her father had been taken to the hospital. The bullet had missed every vital organ in his body, thank God. She'd visited him often. Her mother, as absent-minded as she always tended to be nowadays, had gone out the back door of the house to "bring over some cookies" to one of their neighbors. When the men got the call from Jackson, they'd been unable to find her.

They'd lied to him when he asked. "Yeah, sure, we got her," they said. Their hearts were beating hard in their chests-- Jackson hated liars and often disposed of them without much thought.

Rebecca fell back into a somewhat normal schedule. Classes kept her too busy to think about what had happened the night of the flight. Also, her boyfriend proposed on the bridge leading to backcampus one night.

Right before exams started fully, she received a strange phone call. Her roommate shot up out of a dead sleep, answered the portable lying next to her, and mumbled, "It's for you."

"Hello?" Rebecca asked, playing absently with one of her pens.

"Hi, Rebecca? I don't know if you know who I am, but my name is Lisa Reisert. I need to ask you a few questions."


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

_--Obsessed by the past, Lisa seeks answers wherever she can find them. _

A/N: I knew Rebecca would have attitude as soon as I met her. 'Cause now we know she could totally beat Jack in a New York Minute. ;)

Sorry this took so long to update. I was in another country for four months, without access to the computer. Updates should be faster now.

She rolled her pen over her desk several times, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder. The young woman on the other end sounded overly confident, almost belligerent.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm the woman you met on the flight ten years ago. Well, not so much met as saw, I guess. Remember? I was waiting in line for the bathroom and you--"

_Click. _

"Dammit!" Lisa said, throwing her pen on the floor and slamming the phone back into its cradle. What had she been _thinking_? It had seemed unlikely that the girl would want to talk to her and now Lisa knew it had been a fleeting hope.

The door opened and Marie Townsend, her newest assistant, poked her head in the door. "You done for the night?"

"Yeah, I guess," Lisa said, grabbing her purse and pretending Marie had just interrupted her from something important. She didn't want to admit she'd spent the last several minutes on the payroll making phone calls she shouldn't have, just to feed her desire to know answers.

"You _guess_? Lisa Reisert, you are an unbelievable workaholic."

"You're just getting that now?" she said, walking out with Marie.

"No, I knew before. Hey, someone called for you earlier today. You were on break and I forgot to tell you. He said it was nothing important. I told him you were going to be busy all day and that you'd call him back. But then _I_ got busy and forgot to tell you. I'll give you the number tomorrow."

"And what's our motto?" Lisa asked, hugging her purse tighter and stepping out into the cold night. "Nothing is 'not important.'"

"Yeah, I know. My mistake."

"You should have thought of that before."

"You gonna hang this over my head forever?"

"Probably." Lisa smiled to show her assistant that it was just banter and that she really didn't mean anything by it. This was how she was, and sometimes her drive scared people.

Marie got into her car and Lisa got into hers. She was slightly envious of Marie. It must be nice to be that carefree. To not have things you'd rather not deal with hanging over your head.

Her cell phone rang just as she took off. She sighed. "Yeah. Dad."

"Calling to check up on you."

"You know I'm thirty-five years old, right?"

"So? And your point is--"

"Dad, I'm _fine." _

"I don't think you are, but thanks for trying to reassure me anyway."

"What's it going to take to reassure you?"

"Dinner with your old dad this weekend?"

"Does Saturday work?"

"Yep."

She finished making arrangements with her father and finished the short commute back to her house.

XXXXX

"I thought you'd never get home," Mark said, placing a protective arm around her shoulder.

"I had some phone calls to make," Lisa said with a yawn. Her boyfriend was driving her crazy at the moment. If her father was overprotective, Mark was twice as bad. She just wanted people to leave her alone for two goddamn seconds together.

"Something's been bothering you lately."

"It really hasn't," Lisa said, shaking her head.

"I made dinner. You want some?"

"Not right now," Lisa said, faking a smile. This was rewarded by a kiss on her forehead.

"Well, let me know when you're hungry. I made tons of shrimp, and if you don't eat any of it it'll just go to waste."

"Don't worry," Lisa said, smiling again. She was eager to get into her room and try once again. In response, she flicked on the light to her room and shut the door behind her.

XXXXX

"Who was that?"

Rebecca's roommate, Tara, was fully awake now, gathering her material for her next exam. It would be the last exam of the day and thankfully Rebecca had the time to herself. She vowed to study and to think.

"No one. Prank call," Rebecca lied, staring at the portable phone, which had been put back into its place.

"I hate that. Well, I'm off. It's Professor Wilde's English exam. Apparently we get a huge essay question on _The Importance of Being Earnest_. And guess what? I could care less if it's important to be Earnest or not."

Rebecca gave a weak laugh and shut the door behind her roommate. She had a lot to think about. So Jackson _had_ been lying. But why would he lie about whether or not he'd killed Lisa? It was all very strange. Well, it wasn't as if getting kidnapped on a plane wasn't strange enough.

Even more strange was the fact that Lisa had called. Why? Nothing made any sense.

Just then, the phone rang again.

She thought about not answering it. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly with each ring. Finally, the phone stopped ringing.

Chills crept up her neck. She didn't like being in a room alone for a long periods of time, and the phone call...

Rebecca felt that she was being watched.

With that feeling making its way through her spine, she grabbed her math textbook and left for the library. People were outside, huddled together against the wind and snow. Someone smoked a cigarette right in front of her and she coughed. Someone laughed loudly and then threw a snowball, which whizzed beside her before falling and smashing to bits right in front of her. The entire situation was eerie. Could no one tell she was panicking? Her mouth was dry and she wanted to scream.

And then, she ran right into a man wearing a suit, smoking a cigarette on the porch to the library.

XXXXX

No one responded. Lisa sighed in frustration. Now she'd probably freaked the kid out so bad she'd never answer the phone again.

"Lisa? I'm leaving!" Mike called from the living room.

"Okay, have a good night!" she called back. Her heart began to thump. It had been a long time since she'd been terrified of being by herself in her own house, but with the phone call and the news of another potential kidnapping on a plane...

_He was still out there._

She heard the door slam. Lisa sank against the side of her bed, playing with the chord to her phone. She twirled it around her finger and sighed.

It took a second for her to realize how exhausted she was. Her eyes began to burn from keeping them open. Maybe if she just lay down on her bed for a moment or two... she didn't want to nap this late in the evening, but it was too early for bed.

An hour or so later, Lisa shot straight up in bed as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Leese."

That was when Lisa tumbled out of bed, eyes open wide in terror.

XXXXX

Rebecca screamed.

"Woah, woah, _woah_," the man said, holding his arms out and dropping the cigarette on the ground. "Are you all right?"

Rebecca blushed and went about picking up her math textbook. "I am _so_ sorry," she said. "Bad day. Exams and all."

He looked at her as if unsure whether she was telling the truth or not and smiled. "Well, hope the day gets better for you. Is there anything I can do?"

Rebecca shook her head, highly embarrassed. Was she going to scream every time she ran into a man wearing a suit? With that thought, she said good-bye, pulled open the door to the library, found an empty table, and sat down quickly.

She found she couldn't concentrate on linear equations, anyway. The day had just been so strange. First Lisa, then the man in the suit. What could possibly happen next? She stared at a poster with the illustration of the Irish countryside on it in the travel section of the library for a moment. After trying to work out a several-step problem with no success, she slammed the book shut and went back to her room.

By this point, it had grown dark and most of the other students were inside, studying or wreaking mayhem. On a whim, Rebecca picked up the phone and checked her voicemail.

"You have two new messages," the woman on the line said cheerfully. "To check, please put in your password."

Rebecca did as she was told and finally she heard:

"Hey, I'm sorry about being so abrupt on the phone before. I would really like to talk to you because... I'm trying to figure out what's going on. I know it sounds silly, but I heard on the news about your flight and I'd just like to see if what I experienced is what you experienced... I'm so sorry." There was a sniff and she heard the clicking noise that told her that the call was over. Lisa had called again, and she seemed to be unable to speak directly about what had happened. Rebecca wondered if that had been for _her_ sake, or for Lisa's.

"Second new message," said the operator voice.

"Rebecca. You have to help me," came Lisa's voice, sounding frightened. "Please." The only other part of the message was Lisa's phone number.

"End of messages," said the operator voice, cheerfully.

Rebecca put the phone down in horror.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

A/N: This is a tiny bit confusing, but this is intentional. I wanted to make it so that the first part was solely from Rebecca's point of view. The second part was both Lisa and Rebecca. This part is _mostly_ from Lisa's point of view. And the last part will be both of them again. Just so y'all aren't wacked out by my point of view weirdnesses.

Also, thanks for reading and reviewing. Your comments have really made my day.

Rebecca began throwing everything she could find into boxes and suitcases. She had to get _out_. As soon as she finished her exam in the morning, she'd leave California to go back home. There was absolutely no way she'd hang around much longer.

"You're packing early," Tara said, opening the door to their dormitory and looking at the stack of paper Rebecca had thrown about the room. "I thought you weren't leaving until Saturday."

"Plans changed," Rebecca said with a sigh. "I've got to get out."

Just then, the phone rang. Rebecca jumped violently and Tara shot her a strange look before picking up the phone.

"Please don't--"

"Yes. Hold on, please." Tara held the receiver out and Rebecca was forced to take it. Her hands were trembling. She knew who it had to be.

As if on cue, Lisa's voice came through the line. "Rebecca. Please. I need your help."

"No, you don't. You need the police," Rebecca said, firmly. She thrust open her bottom drawer and threw her jeans on the bed. "Also possibly a psychiatrist. You're holding on to things that don't--"

"Listen to me," came the woman's voice, this time much more firm. "There is a man who wants to kill you. And me."

"What am I going to do about it?"

"Listen," she said again. "He called me. Jackson. I believe you were introduced on the plane."

Rebecca stopped folding a pair of khaki pants. She suddenly found herself unable to move. "You--"

"I saw it on the news. And I wouldn't lie. He's very dangerous and he just called me. I think you might be the only person who can help me."

"I really don't think I can do that."

"One of us can't do a lot of harm. Two of us, on the other hand..."

"Look," Rebecca said. "I have an exam tomorrow morning. I can't get out of it. But I'll see what I can do after that." She sighed and hung up the phone on Lisa. Rebecca wished she could breathe properly. She was absolutely terrified.

Tara stared at her, mouth hanging wide open. Without blinking, Tara picked up a red sweater and dumped it in Rebecca's suitcase.

XXXXX

Rebecca woke up early the next morning. Part of it was dread; she regretted telling Lisa that she'd do something about it. The other part was nerves. She was always incredibly nervous after an exam.

It was a pleasant walk to backcampus. The birds were chirping pleasantly and the sun was just starting to shine. The day would probably be a warm one, and Rebecca looked forward to it. She was going over linear equations in her head when she was interrupted.

"Hello," said the same man she'd seen outside the library the night before, smoking a cigarette. He was doing the same thing now.

She stopped, dead in her tracks, while the man began to walk closer and closer to her. He dropped his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. There was nothing pleasant about his gaze or his tone of voice now. "I've been waiting for you, you know. My associate called and said that you'd left your dorm room for a walk. I followed you back here. Which is all the better, because that way, no one can hear you scream."

XXXXX

"Don't come any closer," Lisa said, voice betraying her fear.

Jackson held up his hands and stopped moving. He smirked slightly, almost as if expecting her to be ornery. "You failed me, Leese."

"I don't think I did," she shot back, reaching behind her for the large kitchen knife.

"She didn't pick up on her end. I had to send one of my associates all the way to California."

"It wasn't my fault she didn't pick up."

Jackson pulled out a knife from his coat pocket. For one bizarre moment, they stood facing each other, knives pointed out. "Leese--"

Lisa shook her head and moved closer to him. She made sure one steady hand was pointed towards his chest. "What do you want from me?"

"Always about you, isn't it?" Jackson said, looking at the knife she was holding and breathing heavily. "Actually, now that you mention it, I want your house."

"My _house_?" she repeated incredulously. "Why would you want that?"

"See, Lisa," he said, coming over and calmly lowering the knife away from danger, "Richard Burke is campaigning in Miami all this week. Florida, lots of electoral votes. But that involves math and politics, two things a woman wouldn't understand."

Lisa frowned at him and thought seriously about trying to kill him. It was so typical of Jackson to think that she wouldn't understand something simply because she didn't have an abundance of testosterone.

"Anyway, our plans went by the wayside once, when Rebecca managed to escape us. It took me a long time to figure out that her entire family was safe. My associates lied to me, something you know I can't stand."

"I know," Lisa said, impatient for him to get on with the story.

"So it took weeks for my few loyal companions and I to come back with a plan. The problem is, I need a safehouse."

"You can drop dead if you even think that you can use my house for that," Lisa said, raising the knife again.

"I have something that might persuade you otherwise," he said, clearly enjoying himself.

"What is that?" she asked, imagining her knife inserted into his overly confident face.

"This," he said, reaching into his belt and lifting out a gun.

"I thought you were a lousy shot."

"I got better."

"How?"

"Target practice. It's been ten years since we met. You don't think some things change?"

"Fair enough," Lisa said with a shrug. She lowered the knife. Somehow chasing Jackson around the house with a kitchen knife seemed slightly ridiculous now.

"You're not going to cry or stick a pen in my throat?"

"It's been ten years since we met. You don't think some things change?"

Jackson smiled a little and stroked the gun, almost lovingly. "I thought you might be persuaded."

"Who said I was persuaded?"

He pointed the gun in her direction and walked around her, almost like a cat stalking its prey. He was enjoying this, just too much. "You put the knife down."

Lisa felt the gun in the small of her back. "You're not going to kill me."

"Why not?"

"You could have done so already."

"Fair point." It was his turn to admit that the enemy was right.

Jackson moved around again, this time resting in front of her. "You going to let me use your house, or not?"

It took everything inside of Lisa not to scream, or to throw things, or to insert her knife into his chest. "There's extra linen in the cupboard. You can sleep on the pull-out couch. I don't have extra pajamas, so don't even ask. My car is off limits. Maybe if you're really nice I'll let you share some of my food."

Jackson stared at her as she went upstairs.

There was a murderer staying in her front room.

XXXXX

Lisa woke up the next morning, unable to place the feeling of dread in her stomach. Her mouth was incredibly dry.

Right. There was a murderer in her front room. Not just any murderer, but Jackson Rippner.

That explained it.

She turned on the television as she got dressed. She liked to watch the morning news before she left for work. Lisa pulled out a jacket and black slacks to wear to work that day. _Wait a minute,_ she thought. Leaving for work meant she'd have to leave _him_ behind. The ball of dread in her stomach returned, making her feel uneasy once again.

"...and in further news, this man is wanted for the death of two government operatives. When last seen, he attempted the murder of Mr. Killmore, who works for the presidential nominee Richard Burke."

Lisa turned the television off with a shudder and went downstairs. She'd have to face facts sooner or later, and she felt it was probably best to face it sooner. She wandered into the kitchen to fix herself some breakfast.

"Good morning, Leese," Jackson said stiffly. His head was poured over _The Miami Herald_, and she marveled at how human he could look when he wasn't moving in for the kill. "I made you some scrambled eggs and toast."

The toast was slightly burnt and the smell lingered in the kitchen. She sniffed in disgust and opened the window in response. "I don't trust you enough to eat that."

"Why not?" He finally looked up from the paper and folded the sports section in half.

"You flirted with me in the Dallas airport, only to turn around on the plane and threaten me and my dad. Oh, and then you chased me around my father's house with a knife."

"Only because you were being difficult. If you'd just complied..." he said with a shake of his head. "Have some eggs. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

"_We, _Jack? I have work. Unlike _some_ people, I actually make an honest living."

And then Lisa knew she'd crossed some kind of invisible line somewhere. His eyes widened and he stood up suddenly. It was amazing how much more intimidating he looked when he towered over her like that. "What did you say?"

"I said I make an honest living."

"And before that."

"I said you chased me around my house." Her heart thudded in her chest, but she refused to show her fear.

"You called me Jack, Leese. You should know never to call me that. My name is Jack_son_."

"And mine's _Lisa_," she said, emphasizing the name. "Not 'Leese'. My father calls me that. And that's it."

He reached out and grabbed her arm tightly. They stared at each other for a very long time. Neither one of them knew what to say to the other. They were both standing in enemy territory and one false move meant that they were defeated at their own game.

"You're not going anywhere today," Jackson said. The truth was that her outfit was kind of sexy. He found himself losing the constant battle he'd played with himself on the airplane. _You don't like her. You maybe would have fucked her, but that's all she means to you. It's Lisa. She hates you. And you hate her, too._

"I have to go to work."

He squeezed her arm and secretly enjoyed watching her face scrunch up in pain. "Not today." Jackson let go and watched her skin turn a slight shade of pink.

Lisa was reminded why she hated him so much. "Well, Jack_son_," she said, spitting out the last syllable as if it was something that tasted bad in her mouth, "in my line of work, you need a good reason why you can't go in. What am I going to tell them, there's a terrorist in my living room?"

"Sounds as good an excuse as any," Jackson said with a shrug.

Lisa hated him with all of her might. He didn't seem particularly dangerous today, just annoying. She'd meant for her question to make him alert and terrified that she'd call the police on him, or would find someone who would. However, he didn't seem at all worried.

This was stupid. They were acting like siblings on a playground, each of them trying to get under the other person's skin.

"Why are you here?" she asked after several long moments.

"I already told you, we're after Richard Burke."

"I'm still a bit confused as to why you're using my house. And why you made me call that little girl."

"Leese? You're not the only one who tried to fight back. She did, too. It's personal now with her and her father. My organization has plans to--"

"Oh, no you don't," Lisa said, raising her voice. She wanted to scream, call the police. "You put one finger on that child's head and--"

"Leese," Jackson said, as if trying to make her see reason, "you don't know her like I do. First of all, she's no longer a child. I know, because she fought me kicking and screaming on the plane. Second of all, I do what I'm ordered to do."

"And this is supposed to move me _how_?" Lisa asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Jackson just closed his eyes for a moment, as if asking God for strength. Lisa thought this was probably a warning sign, but she didn't care. Being truly frightened of him was a thing of the past.

Suddenly, his cell phone chirped out an annoying melody. He opened his eyes to give her a look and spoke into it. "So they're on the ground now? Meet back at the place. We'll be there in a minute." He turned to her and turned his phone off. His eyes were an eerie shade of blue once again. "Get in the car, Leese."

"Your car? I don't want to--"

"I'm not joking," Jackson said, lifting his gun out of the holster on his belt. He pointed it at her, hand shaking only slightly.

"Whatever happened to the man who--"

Suddenly, he sounded just like he had on the plane. "I get my orders and I follow them, Leese. We'd probably both be happier if the order hadn't come down from the top, but unfortunately, someone wants you brought in, too. Get in the car, _Lisa_."


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

A/N: This is the end. Thanks for reading and reviewing, you've really made this fun!

Oh, and it's the _Red Eye_ fandom, so I don't think I need this disclaimer, but there's a character in here who's NOT NICE. He'll make Jackson Rippner look like your great-aunt Bertha when I'm done.

XXXXX

"Who are you?"

"Stop talking to me, kid."

The first thing Rebecca noticed was that the man was a terrible driver. He waited until the last minute to break and sped around turns. She figured that if he didn't murder her or something, they'd both die in a car crash.

"How long was I out?"

"A very long time. The entire time we were on the plane, actually. And I'll do it to you again if you don't shut-- _shit._ Where did he say this place was?" As per usual, he slammed on the breaks so hard she actually heard it. And felt it, at the same time. He reached over her to pull out a map from the glove compartment and studied it carefully. "Jackson's directions. As usual, they make no sense." He folded it shut and threw it on her lap.

The man she'd seen the day before and was now driving the car wasn't _unattractive_, per ce. He had dark hair and light blue eyes. He was much taller than she, probably just over six feet tall. He seemed rather puny; she would have been very surprised that he was capable of kidnap if she didn't know better. The man was probably only a couple of years older than she.

"Who _are_ you?" she asked again, grimacing as she saw the light turn yellow. Just as she expected, he slammed on the breaks and the seat belt painfully pressed her back into the seat.

"Name's Neil Cream," he said and gave her a dirty look as she laughed out loud.

"Well, I'm sorry, but that's a pretty lame name," she responded.

"Ever heard of _Thomas_ Neil Cream? The man who brutally murdered women? Some people still think he's the real Jack the Ripper."

She _did_ recall the name. He and Jack were all over her criminal psychology textbooks. It didn't make the name any less stupid-sounding. "Why didn't you name yourself 'Thomas Cream'?"

He reached around and grabbed her wrist, twisting it slightly. "You know what happens to girls who are naughty?" He slammed on the breaks once more, this time stopping outside of a dumpy-looking house. "They get punished," he said darkly.

He yanked her out of the car and slammed the doors shut. Rebecca only knew of one thing-- she didn't want to go in the building. "I-- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

There was a long pause. Although he kept the death-grip on her arm, his tone of voice lessened slightly. "It's just that Thomas Cream is my father. And Jackson Rippner is my older brother."

XXXXX

Her mind was still reeling when he dragged her into a back room. There was nothing there but a hard chair and-- well-- that was it. Not even a bed or a window. Nothing. Just the chair attached to the floor with bolts.

"Stay in there and be a good girl. Remember what happens to naughty ones." He slammed the door shut and Rebecca shuddered. Left alone, she finally felt terrified. She couldn't even see directly in front of her face, since there was no source of light.

She wasn't sure how much longer it was, or if any time passed at all, when she heard a loud discussion coming from the other side of the door.

"They're on their way to meet with Mr. Burke, then," came a booming voice.

"Yeah, just got off the phone with Jack," came Neil's voice. "The letter to Mr. Burke and the phone call to Mr. Killmore are also in place."

"And the bitch? Where's she?"

"In the car with Jack."

Rebecca started to think of other things, anything. Her stomach growled angrily and she knew she'd need food soon. She started to think of school. Was Tara worried about her at all? And her boyfriend _had_ to be worried. She started to put things into categories-- people she couldn't wait to see when this whole mess was over. Favorite songs. Favorite movies. Good professors. Bad professors. She mentally alphabatized the books she could remember owning.

Suddenly, the door clicked open. She couldn't see for a very long time, couldn't see whether it was the man with the booming voice, Neil, or someone else... but he grabbed her and twisted her left arm behind her back as he pushed her into a different room. It was a stereotypical mafia-type room, probably where they interrogated their victims. She imagined the godfather sitting across the table, speaking slowly and flickering a bit of ash out of his cigar. "How much money for the daughter of a politician?" he'd want to know, taunting her a bit.

The Rebecca of her dreams would retaliate. The Rebecca of right now hardly felt as if she could move because of the fear.

The man pushed her down in the chair and binded her to it. It was, indeed, Neil. He checked once to make sure the bindings were tight enough and grabbed a camera from the side. He shot a picture of her and waited for a moment for the Polaroid to develop. Neil smiled grimly before walking out. When he returned a second or two later, he sat down across from her and switched on the lamp on the desk. The light blinded her eyes.

"So. Sorry about that, but we had to rough you up a bit before we sent Daddy your photograph. Much clearer message than anything we've done yet."

"You know," Rebecca said, speaking despite the cold fear in her chest, "it'd be a lot easier if you just killed him yourself. I still don't know why you need my father--"

He reached over and slapped her, looking as if he were enjoying himself. "I told you, naughty girls get punished. Understand?"

It took awhile to get over the pain and shock. Once the pain was just barely lingering across her face, she raised an eyebrow. Rebecca couldn't figure out for the life of her why he was staring at her like that, legs crossed, smirk on his face...

When she figured it out, she felt nauseated. If Jackson was sick, this man was sicker. "I need to go to the bathroom," she tried desperately.

"No can do," he said. "Jackson tells me his stories. If I remember correctly, you were in the bathroom the last time you tried to escape from us. And I'm starting to enjoy you." He stood, walking to the other side of the desk where she couldn't see him. When he crossed behind her, his finger reached out to stroke the side of her face. The bile rose in her throat. At least he appeared much closer in age to her than Jackson did.

"If all goes according to plan," he continued, coming around so that he faced her, "you won't _exist_ when we're done with you." He knelt down so he was on her level and spoke in a mockingly gentle voice. "Nor will there be any records of you ever _having_ existed. Imagine how bad it's going to look for Daddy. He kills Burke out of desperation. He's going to say he did it to save his daughter, but the cops are going to quickly realize there _is_ no daughter. There never _was_ a daughter. And look-- suddenly it's not our fault."

"Why don't you just kill me now?"

"I will send _one_ picture to Daddy a day. Each day you will-- how shall I say-- look even more a bit worse for the wear. This will continue until Daddy snaps. Once Daddy snaps, Rebecca Killmore ceases to exist."

XXXXX

It was amazing how quickly defiance turned into desperation.

XXXXX

Just when Rebecca wondered when her personal hell would come to an end, everything changed.

"You did this, huh?" came another voice. It was cold but there was a hint of something friendly-- almost like concern. .

"Yeah."

The person knelt over her and she immediately recognized him as Jackson. "No, not you," she said angrily.

"Have it your way," he said with a shrug. "But if you have it _his_ way, it'll be more of the same. You either come with me or you stay with my brother. You have the choice."

She sat up, trying to clear the fog from her brain. She was sore all over. "But--"

"She obviously wants to stay with you," Jackson said, standing up and shrugging once again. "Not much I can do about that. What was the last picture you took?"

There was a rustling noise and Rebecca vaguely took in the image of Neil showing Jackson a picture.

"Nice angle," said Jackson with a smirk. "But I would have focused more on her face. There's a nice bruise on her cheek."

Neil came over and Rebecca shuddered as he stroked her chin. "Yes. My doing."

"Will you leave us alone for a moment?" Jackson asked. "Lisa's having a conversation with Dad. It's about time you meet her, I think. I want to talk to the girl."

Neil hesitated for only a moment before shutting the door behind him. Rebecca wished there was a way out. She felt cornered, as she'd felt so often the past few days.

"Neil's been doing a good job. Look at it this way, Becca. I had a conversation with your dad yesterday. He's pretty close to doing it for us. I can keep you alive when your dad does the deed."

"My dad's not going to murder Richard Burke," she snapped. Apparently she had enough energy to snap at Jackson, but not much else.

"That's not what I hear," Jackson said. "I hear he's pretty desperate for you to come home safely. Burke's sent people out to find you, but they don't seem to know where to look. Your dad's getting to his wit's end." There was a long pause, and Rebecca felt her eyes fill with tears. "Awww, Becca, look at it this way. At least you know you have a father who loves you." His eyes were so cold she knew he was mocking her.

"What can I do-- to make you stop pressuring my father? Can I do it instead?"

Jackson looked at her, amused. "_That's_ a first. Want to make a pact with the devil? I'm sure that can be arranged. My father's sitting right outside this room."

"I'm not joking. What can I do?"

Jackson paused. "I can't tell you how to get out of this. That'd be pretty stupid of me, wouldn't it?"

"Keeping me alive when my father kills Burke seems to be pretty stupid, too. What's the real reason why you're here, Jackson?"

He seemed really taken aback. "Neil was wrong. You're a smart girl."

"I do all right. Tell me why you're here."

"This doesn't mean that I care about you in any way, shape or form, understand?"

"God, I hope not."

He smiled, just a little. "Lisa talked me out of it, believe it or not. I used her house earlier this week and she ended up using it against me. I can offer you a way out."

"But--?"

"But what?"

"There has to be something else to it. You held me hostage on a plane. This can't be the end."

He stopped what he was doing and stared at her. "You knew. Ten years ago, didn't you? You figured out what I was doing to Lisa. Why didn't you tell?"

"I was eleven. No one believed me. Why do you ask?"

"You're just smarter than I'd always figured."

"Thanks."

"I need you to help me get Neil out of the way."

"You're going to kill him," Rebecca said, surprisingly devoid of emotion.

"Believe it or not, you're wrong. I have other plans."

XXXXX

"You told me you wouldn't lay a finger on that child," Lisa said angrily.

"I didn't. That was my brother's doing," Jackson said with a grimace. "He's not very nice."  
"I noticed," Lisa muttered.

"Look, Leese. You've won this one. I'd be more grateful if I were you. Of course, that might be too much to ask, since you just about punched my lights out once we left your house."

She gave him a look that spoke volumes. "Well, congratulations, Jack. I thought you were the worse kind of person in the world, but you just proved me wrong. How are you two related?"

"Just lucky, I guess." He was smirking and it angered her.

"What do you have planned?" Lisa didn't care that he was trying to find a way out. He seemed awfully suspicious.

He just smirked in his maddening I-know-something-you-don't way of his. "Oh, you know. Stuff."

"You sound like a fourth grader."

He grabbed her wrist once again, eyes flashing angrily. "Leese, how many times have I told you not to insult me? There's one rule we follow here. Naughty girls get punished."

Lisa wasn't afraid of him, not anymore. "You follow _rules_?"

He made an angry face and twisted her wrist, only slightly. "Leese, I'm going to be lenient to you. But if you keep up with that _attitude_ there will be those who won't be as nice. Got it?"

Lisa didn't want to argue anymore. It just wasn't worth it. Besides, if Jackson was in a good mood, he would be more likely to help the young girl. She was silent while Jackson explained something about a meeting she wouldn't be allowed to be part of.

She hoped Jackson was smarter than he seemed.

XXXXX

The meeting was Thomas, Neil, Jackson, and Rebecca in a room together. The sons sat on either side of Rebecca. The father sat across from them.

"What do you want, Jack?" he asked in a booming voice.

"I'm willing to shell over some money for the hostage," he said, legs crossed.

"How much?" Neil asked, finding Rebecca's arm and holding on to it.

"How much would you like?"

"As much as we gave you for the Burke job you fucked up in the first place?"

"She's not worth that much," Jackson said, making eye contact with her.

What was he up to? She raised an eyebrow as if to ask him the question, but he didn't give any indication of letting her know the answer.

"How much is she worth?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a quarter of a million dollars?"

Neil's greedy eyes looked intrigued. "Or maybe more?"

She had no clue what Jackson's plan was. Why was he offering to shell out so much money?

"You're right," Jackson said. "But not much more, right? She's pretty ornery. And I can't tell you what it'll cost me to keep her in line."

Thomas gave his older son a significant look. He looked almost amused. "He's right, Neil. She's one of the most ornery women we've ever met, except for maybe the other female we have staying with us. And your mother," he added, after a pause.

"But she's really pretty," Neil responded calmly. "That's got to be worth more."

"Not _that_ pretty," Jackson said, matching his brother's tone. "I stand by what I said before. She's got good cheekbones, but her eyes are a bit asymmetrical."

"She's still worth more than a quarter of a million."

"Not as pretty as the other girl we have staying with us." Jackson looked way too amused to match the situation.

"I want two thousand more."

"A thousand."

"Two thousand. And not a penny less."

"Fine."

"Also, remember, I kidnapped her on my own, right before her last exam, no less. You have to give me some credit for that. Seven thousand more."

"That much more?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to break the bank, but I have to agree, kidnapping her in the middle of nowhere _is_ impressive." Rebecca noted that his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Jack, you're bargaining after you've failed your latest mission. You're in no position to make jokes, you know," Thomas said sternly. "As I recall, you couldn't even keep two women hostage on an airplane, so..."

Jackson scowled and folded his arms across his chest. Rebecca was surprised as to how long the negotiations went on. In the end, he lost over four million dollars, but he didn't seem at all worried. "Come on," he muttered, grabbing her arm tightly.

He eventually grabbed Lisa, too, and all three of them left the house. Sunlight burned Rebecca's eyes, but it felt good. "Why did you give up so much money?" Rebecca asked. Lisa looked at the two of them, surprised. She looked at Rebecca as if to ask, and then seemed to decide upon further reflection that she didn't want to know.

"Neil forgets that even assassins have morals. Typically, you have to pay a fellow assassin back exactly as much as you get. I actually just made money. They gave me two million for the Burke assassination, but I get two million extra. Since I just gave Neil four million bucks, he'll have to match me cent for cent.

I definitely thought my father would side with Neil, but he seemed to know what I was doing and played along. Strange."

Lisa and Rebecca gave each other bewildered expressions.

"So," Lisa said after a pause, "you're going to let her go?"

"Let's not forget, she's still my hostage until I say otherwise. I bought her, fair and square."

"But you promised!" Rebecca said, trying not whine. She felt tears pressing against her eyes. Jackson had lied to them. She was never going to go home.

"Let's not get your knickers in a twist," he said, annoyed. He opened the back car door for the ladies and slammed it shut once they climbed in. Then, he crossed over to his side of the car and drove off.

"Where are we going?"

"Do you want to be reunited with your father, or do you want to stay here forever? Because we can arrange either. It's your choice."

That was enough to keep Rebecca quiet.

Lisa reached over and squeezed her hand supportively. "It'll be all right," she whispered.

Rebecca nodded and stared out of the window. She'd been through quite an ordeal and her head was still spinning. Why had Jackson done this for her? The money, of course. But it seemed so strange, him giving up so much money in the process. And he was willing to let her father go, too.

"May I ask you a question?" she asked timidly.

"What?" Jackson said in an annoyed voice. He made eye contact with her in the rear view mirror.

"Why did you put down so much money for my sake?"

Suddenly, he looked kind of sad. "Sometimes, good things happen to good people."

XXXXX

The ladies hopped out of the car when Jackson pulled up to a grassy area. Voting booths had been set up and people with Burke stickers stood off to the side. It was strange to Rebecca that there were still people in the world who weren't connected to Jackson and his organization. One of the volunteers laughed and tried to get her to wear a sticker.

"I'm voting for him already," Rebecca said, chuckling back. "My father works for him."

"Oh, right. Burke's on that podium by those trees over there. His staff's probably pretty close by."

Rebecca looked back and saw that Jackson had a sticker on his jacket that said, "I heart the true candidate, Burke." The irony usually would have made her laugh, but many things had changed during the last week.

She looked back once more on her way to the podium. Jackson stood there much as he had on the plane ten years ago when she'd first seen him, hands in pockets. He was still a creep, but he wasn't totally hateful anymore. Maybe there was some good in Jackson Rippner somewhere deep down inside.

Rebecca nodded slightly and smiled before turning back around. Lisa caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "I'll buy you a drink when we find your dad. You deserve it."

"Sounds good," Rebecca agreed. She neared the podium and searched the crowd. Suddenly, she found the man she'd missed more than anyone during the last week.

"Dad!" she squealed, and ran into his arms.


End file.
